UC-NRLF 


:£- 


ELILDC 


A  TALE  OF  LOVE 


M.  B.  M.  TO  LAND. 


AUTHOR  OF 


>EGLE   AND   THE    ELF, 

THE    INCA    PRINCESS, 

IRIS, 

SIR    RAE.  ETC.,  ETC. 


Eudora's  love,  with  varied  light  and  shade, 
By  Eila  from  fund  memories  portrayed. 


WITH   DRAWINGS    BY 

H.  SIDDONS  MOVBRAY  AND  V.  H.  GIBSON, 


AND 


DECORATIONS    IN   THE  TEXT    BY 


L.  S.  IPSEN, 


PHILADELPHIA: 
J.   B.   LIPPINCOTT   COMPANY. 


Copyright,  1887,  by  J.  B.  LU>PINCOTT  COMPANY 


PS  307; 


•— ~r 


LIST  •  OT 


FIGURE  DRAWINGS  BY  H.  SIDDONS  MOWBRAY. 


"Silent  musing  on  the  hours  passed"  .     . 
ENGEAVED  BY  FEANK  FEENCH. 


.   Frontispiece 


"Fondly  I  watched  her  wend  the  sylvan  way" 18 

ENGEAVED    BY    E.    HEINEMANN. 

"The  sound  of  shambling  footsteps" 28 

ENGEAVED  BY  FEANK  H.  WELLINGTON'. 

"Let  me  my  mind  from  haunting  mem  ries  free"      ...     50 
ENGEAVED  BY  JOHN  P.  DAVIS. 

"Behold"  said  he,  "  the  waning  moon's  cold  beams"  ...     91 
ENGEAVED  BY  ROBEET  HOSKIN. 

"There  sat  my  brother,  with  his  head  low  bowed"     .     .     .  102 
ENGEAVED  BY  GEO.  P.  WILLIAMS. 

Closing  illustration 110 

ENGEAVED  BY  HENEY  WOLF. 

6 


V 


DRIVINGS,  • 

-     .,  ;;v  --  ,_ 

^r^-v:^n 


LANDSCAPES  DRAWN  BY  W.  HAMILTON  GIBSON. 

"How  changed  is  everything!" 12 

ENGRAVED  BY  C.  H.  REED. 

"The  birds  were  singing  to  their  fledgelings  young'1  ...     22 
ENGRAVED  BY  J.  TINKEY. 

"  Incrusted  trees  that  kingly  orders  wore1 46 

ENGRAVED  BY  JAS.  AV.  LAUDERBACH. 

"O'er  crimson  banners  furling  in  the  West" 66 

ENGRAVED  BY  A.  M.  LINDSAY. 

"  'Mid  thousand  charms  that  decked  the  varied  scene1  .     .     93 
ENGRAVED  BY  GEO.  P.  WILLIAMS. 

"That  mossy  stone  beside  the  stream" 105 

ENGRAVED  BY  F.  S.  KING. 


I. 


mm 


How  changed  is  everything  ! 


Page  11. 


AT  home  once  more ; 

And  yet  it  does  not  seem 

Those  twice  ten  years  were  other  than  a  dream, 
Instead  of  absent  life  in  distant  land. 
How  changed  is  everything ! 

The  sparkling  sand 

That  bedded  my  pet  brook  is  overgrown 
With  marshy  reeds,  as  though  it  ne'er  had  known 
The  rushing  waterfall  that  bounded  o'er 
Its  pebbled  barrier  in  days  of  yore. 
Bright,  laughing  wavelets  leapt  the  livelong  day, 
Kissing  the  willows  with  foam-flecks  of  spray, 
Dancing  between  the  flowery  borders  steep 
Into  a  cove  of  placid  waters  deep. 

11 


I  gaze  bewildered  at  the  stately  trees, 
Erewhile  but  bushes  swayed  by  slightest  breeze, 
When  last  I  saw  them  with  my  childhood's  friend, 
Whose  strange  romance  with  memories  fond  I  blend. 


II. 

Eudora  perfect  beauties  all  combined 
Of  noble  presence,  lovely  and  refined ; 
Her  smiles  indenting  dimples  on  her  face, 
Fair  as  the  Nymphaea  Alba, — with  rare  grace 
Of  Grecian  features,  and  large  dreamy  eyes, 
The  azure  deepening  like  the  evening  skies ; 
Their  heavenly  depths  an  undecided  hue, 
Beaming  with  glances  ever  pure  and  true. 
Her  golden  hair,  when  left  to  fall  unbound 
In  sunny  waves  trailed  coiling  on  the  ground ; 
Unconscious  of  her  artless,  winning  way, 
She  lent  indulgence  to  my  love  of  play, 
The  haunting  mirthful  fun  forever  near 
That  oft  provoked  some  sportive  prank  to  cheer. 

12 


III. 

One  morn  we  stood  beside  the  sparkling  rill, 

And  watched  the  fall  with  foaming  waters  fill ; 

The  bubbling  pool  in  murmured  measures  gay 

Awaking  ever  some  sweet  roundelay  : 

Eudora  sang  the  while  enchantingly 

That  charming  song  of  purest  melody— 

The  sweetest  madrigal  the  Laureate  wrote, 

His  speaking  "  Brook" — each  rippling  liquid  note 

Breathes  harmony  through  all  the  rhythmic  lines 

Which  music  in  true  poesy  enshrines. 

To  the  clear  warbled  measures  as  she  sang, 

The  lilies  nodded,  and  the  echoes  rang 

With  fairy  voices  floating  on  the  air 

Of  unseen  choristers  from  everywhere. 


IV. 

The  song  had  scarcely  ceased,  when  through  the  brush 
Bang  out  a  shot.     Down  fell  a  wounded  thrush 
Before  Eudora's  feet,  and  flutt'ring  died. 
Then  followed  footsteps ;— quickly  to  her  side, 

13 


:<^^% 


Breaking  the  boughs,  a  youthful  hunter  came ; 
Lifting  his  hat,  he  smiled,  and  took  the  game 
Eudora  offered  with  a  trembling  hand. 
His  admiration  he  could  not  command, 
At  sight  of  such  enchanting  charms  amazed, 
Beaming  with  wonder  and  delight  he  gazed. 
His  lingering  glance,  as  slowly  he  withdrew, 
Kindled  her  blushes  to  my  furtive  view ; 
Inspired  my  muse  in  merry  jest  to  write 
Impromptu  lines, — suggestive  numbers  light : — 


Thy  song  the  sportsman  surely  heard, 
For  thou  didst  sing  so  sweetly  ; 

Enraged,  he  shot  the  rival  bird 

That  drowned  thy  voice  completely. 

Lo,  when  he  came  to  seek  his  game, 
Meantime  the  songstress  seeking, 

His  glance  betrayed  his  heart  aflame, 
With  admiration  speaking. 
14 


Thy  blushes  and  thy  downcast  eyes 
At  once  thy  thoughts  betraying, 

Thy  timid  glance  of  pleased  surprise, 
Thy  heart  its  throbs  delaying. 

He  bears  the  haughty  hermit's  name, 

Poetical  and  pretty ; 
Last  evening  to  the  Bluff  he  came, 

This  subject  of  my  ditty. 


V. 

Eudora,  laughing,  read  the  lines  and  said, 
"  Why  are  you,  Eila,  by  wild  fancies  led  ? 
Why  write  such  nonsense  ? 

Why  forever  tease  ? 

Your  pleasant  raillery  may  fail  to  please. 
Often  I  wonder  why  my  dearest  friend 
Her  happy  thoughts  with  mimicry  will  blend." 
"  You  wonder  still,"  I  answered.     "  Fie  !  oh,  fie 
The  arrows  from  my  bow  fall  harmlessly ; 
I  aim  my  pointless  shafts  at  those  I  love, 
And  thus  my  fondness  for  my  friends  I  prove." 

15 


Then  twining  arms  we  slowly  sauntered  home. 

When  near  the  Bluff,  I  pointed  to  the  dome 

Or  cupola  that  crowned  its  tower  of  stone 

Where  dwelt  a  hermit  until  now  alone. 

A  stranger, — Alvin  Alster, — nothing  more 

Was  known  of  him ;  to  all  he  closed  his  door. 

Secluded  from  the  busy  stage  of  life 

He  mixed  not  with  the  world ;  no  care,  no  strife 

Disturbed  him  in  his  search  of  mystic  lore 

From  valued  tomes  that  formed  his  hoarded  store. 


VI. 

A  house  half  hidden  by  the  wild  woodbine, 
And  ivy  mingling  with  sweet  eglantine, 
That  climbed  the  latticed  casement,  draping  o'er 
The  Gothic  pillars  of  the  oaken  door  ; 
Trailing  along  the  tufted  moss-grown  sod, 
Save  by  the  hermit's  footsteps  seldom  trod. 
Here  all  alone  he  passed  the  cheerless  day, 
Till  unexpected  came  his  kinsman  gay, — 

16 


A  youth  of  nineteen  years,  perhaps, — not  more, — 
Of  the  same  name  the  Solitary  bore ; 
Accustomed  at  his  military  school 
To  discipline  severe,  of  strictest  rule, 
He  heeded  not  the  hermit's  cold  reserve, 
Hoping  in  time  his  better  mood  to  serve ; 
And  with  a  heart  from  selfish  motives  free, 
For  his  strange  host  he  felt  deep  sympathy. 
Last  of  his  name  upon  his  father's  side, 
He  came  to  seek  his  kinsman  lone,  whose  pride 
Had  closed  his  heart  to  every  tie  of  blood, 
Until  this  namesake  on  his  threshold  stood. 


VII. 

That  evening  when  the  dying  twilight  pale 
O'er  the  still  landscape  spread  her  dewy  veil, 
The  violets,  all  nestled  in  their  bed, 
Through  webs  of  gossamer  sweet  fragrance  shed ; 
The  morning-glories  their  fair  faces  closed, 
With  drooping  heads  in  silent  sleep  reposed ; 
2  17 


For  Nature,  gentle  mother,  on  her  breast 
Had  lulled  her  floral  progeny  to  rest. 
Eudora  sought  her  home  not  far  from  ours, 
A  cottage  clad  with  many  climbing  flowers, 
Closing  her  visit  with  the  closing  day. 
Fondly  I  watched  her  wend  the  sylvan  way, 
Until  she  entered  her  embowered  door, 
And  the  young  sportsman  stood  our  gate  before, 
"With  pleasant  greeting  and  true  genial  grace 
Within  our  group  he  found  a  welcome  place. 
My  parents  soon  a  lively  interest  took 
In  our  adventure  by  the  babbling  brook, 
Which  he  related  in  becoming  style : 
As  if  suppressing  secret  mirth,  the  while 
He  glanced  expectantly  with  his  dark  eyes — 
"I  come,"  he  added,  "to  apologize." 
My  father  laughing,  said,  "  That  wild  resort 
Is  tempting  to  such  incidents  of  sport." 
Then  asked  of  me,  "  Is  not  Eudora  here  ?" 
And  when  I  answered,  he,  with  social  cheer, 
Said,  merrily,  "  Eudora  well  could  spare 

18 


From  her  rich  golden  treasures,  tresses  fair, 

Enough  to  make  Puck's  girdle  round  the  world, 

Of  silken  sheen,  in  radiant  sunbeams  furled." 

The  generous  compliment  was  well  repaid 

By  the  delight  our  visitor  displayed. 

My  mother,  pleased  to  join  our  pleasantry, 

Added,  "  Such  charms  as  hers  we  seldom  see. 

All  must  admire  with  rapture  and  surprise 

The  perfect  beauty ;  but  sad  thoughts  will  rise, 

Predicting  what  may  be  her  future  fate  ?" 

My  father  interrupted,  "  Do  not  prate 

Thus  dolefully  of  one  with  heart  so  pure, 

Her  future  happiness  we  may  insure." 

I  caught  his  hand  in  mine  exclaiming,  "  True, 

The  brightest  destiny  to  her  is  due." 

Smiling,  our  guest  took  leave.    "  Good-night,"  said  he ; 

"  My  host  demands  an  early  hour  of  me." 

VIII. 

"  A  fine  companion  for  the  Solitaire," 

My  father  said.     "  Can  he  be  happy  there  ?' 

19 


My  mother  made  reply,  "  That  happy  face 

Presages  joy  and  peace  in  any  place. 

A  young  Cadet,  so  chivalrous,  will  cheer 

The  stern  old  Sage,  his  kinsman ; — yet  I  fear 

That  stolid  hermit  never  will  consent 

To  social  pastimes  with  his  neighbors  spent. 

So  long  accustomed  to  his  lonely  life, 

He  shuns  the  world  as  if  'twere  naught  but  strife." 

Much  more  we  pondered  on  the  strange  recluse, 

Till  midnight  brought  to  our  discourse  a  truce. 

With  parting  kiss  and  blessing  I  retired, 

In  pensive  mood  by  happy  hopes  inspired. 


IX. 

Sleeping,  I  dreamed,  and  in  my  vision  came 
Eudora  with  the  stranger, — a  bright  flame 
Like  ignis-fatuus  gleamed  above  their  brows, 
Misleading  witness  of  their  plighted  vows. 
Their  faces  beamed  with  perfect  happiness, 
While  near  them  stood  a  priest  as  if  to  bless 

20 


The  marriage  rites  God's  holy  laws  command 
And  join  the  lovers  with  the  nuptial  band; 
When  came  the  hermit  angrily,  and  told 
The  priest  his  ceremony  to  withhold. 
"  These  nuptials  I  forbid  !  You  do  not  dare," 
He  cried,  "  unite  in  wedlock  such  a  pair 
Of  children  !     He  is  nothing  but  a  boy 
Who  yields  to  his  first  fancy  for  a  toy." 
At  his  command  the  holy  man  withdrew ; 
The  hermit  followed  with  a  cold  adieu. 
Kaleidoscopic  scenes  then  filled  the  room ; 
Brilliant  reflections,  brightening  the  gloom, 
Of  wondrous  beauties,  dazzling  with  delight, 
Until  the  dawn  dispelled  the  witching  sight, 
Then  from  my  thoughts  forebodings  sped  away, 
And  dreams  dissolved  before  the  light  of  day. 


x. 


The  glorious  sun  was  sipping  drops  of  dew 
From  threads  of  airy  mist,  still  floating  through 


21 


The  tall  grass  ready  to  be  mown  for  hay, 

Kich  with  its  ruby  globes  of  clover  gay, 

Tempting  the  bees  to  gather  honey  sweet, 

Buzzing  from  cup  to  cup  until  replete 

With  nectar  sipped  from  countless  blossoms  fair 

That  nodded  o'er  the  fields  luxuriant  there. 

The  birds  were  singing  to  their  fledgelings  young, 

Attempting  their  first  flight  the  shrubs  among ; 

And  anxious  mothers  wailed  with  wild  unrest 

As  those  they  loved  forsook  the  parent  nest. 


XI. 

Beside  the  brook  we  often  Alvin  met, 
Where  Love  his  arrows  had  already  whet ; 
And  with  unerring  aim  from  supple  bow 
Had  left  his  mark  in  blushes  warm  aglow. 
Fate  from  her  distaff  spinning  fragile  thread, 
Awaking  thoughts  by  wooing  fancies  led, 
Through  warp  and  woof  her  graceful  shuttle  ran, 
As  she  the  weaving  of  the  web  began. 

22 


v 


The  birds  were  singing  to  their  fledgelings  young. 


Page  22. 


:S"".^ 

"-£>  /    1.   -x-^-^— ^    s.       V     - 


Thenceforth  young  Alvin  came  a  frequent  guest, 
His  heart's  fond  aspirations  unrepressed. 
Too  young  as  yet  to  dare  avow  his  choice ; 
Nor  could  Eudora  find  for  love  a  voice, 
Save  by  the  glances  of  her  speaking  eyes, 
Proclaiming  her  devotion,  though  unwise ; 
The  coy  reserve, — the  gentle  maiden  grace, 
The  rosy  blush  that  flitted  o'er  her  face, 
The  struggling  hopes,  half  uttered,  half  concealed, 
And  tender  gaze  her  dawning  love  revealed. 
As  a  third  person,  it  was  mine  to  share 
The  scenes  of  loveliness  and  beauties  rare, 
While  sped  the  summer  on  its  hasty  wing, 
Till  o'er  the  landscape,  Autumn  came  to  fling 
Warm  glowing  colors  with  a  generous  hand, 
And  scatter  gold  throughout  the  smiling  land. 


23 


GANT9  II. 


I. 

ONE  morn,  while  pondering  o'er  some  pleasant  scheme, 
We  sauntered  slowly  by  the  plashing  stream 
Until  we  reached  our  rest, — a  mossy  stone  ; 
Where,  for  a  while,  Eudora  sat  alone, 
And  warbled  o'er  sweet  scraps  of  melody, 
Like  liquid  voices  from  the  distant  sea. 
Meanwhile  I  sought  the  brightest  jewels  rare 
From  Autumn's  casket  gleaming  everywhere  ; 
The  gems  that  decked  the  maple's  ruby  crown, 
The  golden  beech  and  birch  of  russet  brown ; 
And  mingled  fern  with  graceful  columbine, 
For  her  fair  brow  a  chaplet  to  entwine. 
The  spirit  of  my  mischief — ever  near — 
Suggested  raillery  :  I  would  appear 
Like  victor  at  the  queen  of  beauty's  feet ; 
And  when  my  frost-gemmed  garland  was  complete, 

27 


The  offering  I  laid  before  her  throne 

With  mimic  grace  that  Alvin  would  have  shown 

Eudora,  his  divinity.     Delight 

Beamed  on  her  face  with  glowing  blushes  bright, 

The  while  I  quoted  Leigh  Hunt's  Letter  flowers, 

Breathing  true  love  from  nature's  sunny  bowers. 

"  An  exquisite  invention  this, 
Worthy  of  love's  most  honeyed  kiss, 
This  art  of  writing  billet-doux 
In  buds  and  odors  and  bright  hues." 


II. 

"  Bright  hues,  indeed,"  she  said.     "  How  grandly  gay 
Is  nature's  robe  this  sparkling  frosty  day;" 
Then  paused  to  listen  with  expectancy 
To  every  rustling  leaf  of  bush  or  tree, 
Weaving  fair  visions  such  as  maidens  frame, 
Blending  with  future  bliss  her  lover's  name. 
Soon  there  responded  to  her  listening  ear 
The  sound  of  shambling  footsteps  drawing  near, 

28 


liliiiiilijIISIiJiiliiliffljllljlll  .ii.iiii.'.ilil,,;;:!;:,,,!!!!!1,,',]1!.  !,„.„,  jii^ii  iil ,!..,.,  liJJiliiiiili,,'  • ' 
The  sound  of  shambling  footsteps. 


As  through  a  briery  path  the  hermit  came, 
And,  with  a  trembling  voice,  pronounced  her  name, 
Fixing  his  eyes  with  cold  and  frowning  stare 
On  her  fair  face,  as  if  its  truth  to  dare, 
Exclaiming,  "  Thou  art  here,  and  so  I  take 
This  freedom  for  my  youthful  cousin's  sake. 
Ensnared,  led  captive,  by  thy  witching  wiles, 
He  raves,  he  dotes  upon  thy  charms  and  smiles. 
The  dreaming,  foolish  boy  hopes  time  will  prove 
His  right  to  claim  thee,  queen  of  heart  and  love, 
Which  I  forbid!" 

He  paused,  still  scowling  there 
With  lowering  glance  at  wondrous  beauty  rare ; 
Her  modest  blushes  blanched  before  the  rage 
Of  Alvin's  kinsman, — evil  boding  sage ; 
For  he  had  come  to  dash  her  cup  of  bliss 
In  broken  fragments  to  the  dark  abyss 
Of  hopeless  love. 

"  Thou  speakest  not !"  he  cried  ; 
"  Nor  have  thy  looks  his  words  of  praise  denied  ; 
Not  yet  at  liberty  to  yield  his  heart, 

29 


From  thy  alluring  charms  he  must  depart." 

Crushed  by  the  edict  of  stern  destiny, 

Eudora  sat  in  silent  misery ; 

Pale  as  the  lily  and  with  lips  compressed, 

Her  fluttering  heart  so  throbbed  within  her  breast 

My  anger  rose ;  and  standing  by  her  side 

In  her  defence,  I 'to  the  hermit  cried,— 

"  0,  cruel,  cruel  man  !     How  dare  you  speak 

Thus  to  Eudora  ? 

Why  such  tortures  wreak 
Upon  young  Alvin's  friend  ? 

A  heart  so  true 

Deserves  all  gentleness,  not  blame  from  you ; 
You  wrong  her,  sir,  for  you  have  naught  to  fear  ; 
Naught  has  been  spoken  that  you  might  not  hear. 
Eudora,  come  !     This  is  no  place  for  you ; 
Listen  no  longer.     Sir  !  we  bid  adieu  !" 
"  Ah  !  then  this  is  the  friend — the  little  Sprite — 
Whom  Alvin  calls  'the  beauty's  satellite.' 
And  art  thou  sure  they  were  not  making  love  ? 
A  worthy  friend  in  need  thou'lt  surely  prove." 

30 


His  words  were  spoken  with  such  irony 
That  from  his  presence  gladly  did  I  flee, 
Drawing  Eudora  from  his  blighting  gaze 
'Neath  heavy  scowling  brows  o'er  eyes  ablaze. 


in. 


And  yet,  his  manner,  when  we  left,  was  bland 
With  courtesy, — 'twas  hard  to  understand. 
He  slowly  drew  the  cap  from  off  his  head, 
And  bowed  uncovered  as  we  homeward  sped. 
Eudora,  with  a  strange  bewilderment, 
In  unresisting,  hopeless  sorrow  went 
Along  the  homeward  path ;  the  while  I  tried 
To  cheer,  to  comfort,  and  arouse  her  pride. 
"  Eudora,  be  yourself!  he  should  not  see 
He  has  the  power  to  cause  such  misery." 
She  answered  not ;  nor  did  my  words  appear 
Other  than  idle  efforts ;  naught  could  cheer 
One  of  those  timid  natures, — sensitive, — 
Who  suffer  uncomplaining  and  yet  live. 

31 


How  changed  was  she —how  cold !    Her  speaking  eyes 
Looked  dumb  with  hidden  sorrow  and  surprise. 
She  would  not  enter  as  we  reached  our  door ; 
Keturned  no  kiss,  and  pressed  my  hand  no  more ; 
Grown  languid,  cold,  the  image  of  despair, 
Without  one  answering  glance  she  left  me  there. 


IV. 

Confused  by  all  that  I  had  heard  and  seen, 
I  felt  quite  powerless  my  friend  to  wean 
From  fancies  fond  that  filled  her  heart  with  light, 
And  shield  its  budding  flower  from  early  blight. 
My  father,  marking  my  confusion,  asked, 
"  What  ails  you,  child  ?     Pray,  what  has  overtasked 
Your  patience  ?     Why  this  disappointed  air  ? 
What  fancy  crossed,  or  what  imagined  care  ?" 
Before  my  answer  I  could  calmly  frame 
Alvin  in  haughty  indignation  came. 
My  father  listened  with  contracted  brows 
As  Alvin  plead  his  love  and  plighted  vows, 

32 


"  To  you,  dear  sir;  her  guardian,  I  must  speak 

Before  a  parting  interview  I  seek 

With  dear  Eudora, — or  her  mother  see. 

The  hermit,  in  his  cold  audacity, 

No  doubt  forestalls  me,  for  this  very  day 

He  strove  to  drive  Eudora's  love  away. 

A  few  brief  years,  and  I  shall  come  to  claim 

My  heart's  first  love  to  share  my  joys,  my  name  ;- 

So  interwoven  with  my  web  of  life, 

She  yet  shall  wear  the  sacred  title, — wife." 


v. 

Then,  as  I  watched  my  father's  anxious  face, 
I  saw  a  brightening  smile  his  frown  replace, 
And,  taking  Alvin's  hand  between  his  own, 
He  said,  "  Brave  boy  !  you  all  my  doubts  dethrone. 
Eegard  me  as  your  friend :  henceforth  you  share 
A  place  with  my  young  ward  ;  for  her  my  care 
Eedoubles  from  this  time. 

Your  every  word 
Came  from  a  noble  heart,  and,  as  I  heard, 

33 


Convinced  me  how  ungenerous  were  fears 

Distrusting  dawning  manhood's  early  years. 

To  you,  with  truth  and  honor,  so  refined 

In  choice  of  purity  and  noble  mind, 

I  trust  with  confidence.     We  may  depend 

On  future  years  to  bring  a  happy  end. 

Yes  !  yes  !  you  need  not  promise  any  more." 

When  Alvin  would  again  his  new  vows  pour 

Joy  lit  his  countenance  :  with  faltering  voice 

He  cried,  "Dear  sir  !  it  makes  my  heart  rejoice 

That  you  will  still  regard  me  as  your  friend, 

And  my  Eudora  from  all  harm  defend  : 

Good-by !  no  words  can  half  my  thanks  express." 

Taking  my  hand  he  said, 

"  May  Heaven  bless 

You,  Eila,  for  your  kind  and  friendly  zeal 
That  nearly  warmed  the  hermit's  heart  of  steel." 


VI. 


Then  came  my  tears,  nor  could  I  longer  stay, 
But,  rushing  from  his  presence,  hid  away 

34 


Within  the  sanctum  of  my  room,  and  there 
Knelt  down  in  silent,  earnest,  tearful  prayer. 
When  I  arose,  I  thought  of  my  sweet  friend, — 
How  could  I  comfort  her  ?    What  could  I  send  ? 
Hoping  my  effort  would  not  prove  in  vain, 
I  wrote  some  lines  to  soothe  Eudora's  pain, 
With  sympathy  so  deep,  naught  could  express 
The  struggling  hopes  that  came  my  love  to  bless. 
Ill  could  my  mind  its  wandering  thoughts  engage, 
Though  fast  my  pen  flew  o'er  the  blotted  page 
Until  completed,  when  I  laid  away 
The  lines  for  use  at  some  near  future  day. 


VII. 

In  consultation  late  we  sat  that  night : 
News  from  our  friends  filled  us  with  sad  affright. 
The  mother,  still  unsparing  in  her  blame, 
Sternly  forbade  the  mention  of  his  name, 
Whose  fancy  for  her  daughter  plainly  told 
Our  indiscretion, — we  had  been  too  bold,— 

35 


It  was  improper,  meeting  him  alone 
In  Avoodland  bowers. 

The  world  would  not  condone 
Such  folly,  nor  would  gossip's  evil  tongue 
Cease  from  its  knell  that  ne'er  before  had  rung 
Eudora's  name.     She  should  secluded  be 
Till  time  from  futile  fancy  set  her  free. 
When  Alvin  called  his  sad  adieux  to  pay, 
The  servant  said,  "  The  ladies  wish  to-day 
To  be  excused."     "  I  come  to  bid  good-by !" 
Cried  Alvin ; — "  they  will  surely  not  deny 
One  moment.     Take  my  message  in,  I'll  pay 
You  well !"     The  servant  said,  "  I  must  obey 
My  orders,  sir ;  nor  can  I  take  your  gold  ; 
My  duty  is  to  do  as  I  am  told." 


VIII. 


Such  was  the  story  brought  by  my  old  nurse, 
Eebecca,  who  I'm  sure  made  matters  worse. 
A  crotchety  old  maid,  with  jealous  care 

36 


Of  one  she  raised  from  infancy,  nor  dare 
I  doubt  her  words  of  gossip  nor  appear 
Even  to  harbor  in  my  heart  a  fear 
Of  her  injustice  :  nor  could  I  believe 
Eudora's  mother  would  not  soon  relieve 
Her  daughter  from  all  doubts  and  cruel  blame. 
'Twas  then  to  interrupt  my  rev'rie  came 
Bebecca,  prating  over  errors  still ; 
She  censured  the  stern  mother's  stubborn  will, 
Saying,  "  That  woman's  tongue  goes  like  a  whir, 
Nor  does  she  spare  you  one  malicious  slur ; 
She  calls  you  meddlesome,  a  go-between, 
And  tries  her  daughter's  heart  from  you  to  wean." 
Indignantly  I  cried,  "  Oh,  hush  ! — Forbear 
Kepeating  evil  gossip,  and  beware 
The  harm  your  idle  words  to  us  may  bring : 
From  careless  gossip  slanderous  tales  oft  spring." 
"  Oh,  my  !     What  do  I  hear  ?"  she  sobbing  said, 
Her  apron  to  her  eyes,  shaking  her  head, 
"  This  is  the  thanks  I  get, — your  nurse,  your  friend,— 
Yet  will  I  ever  your  good  name  defend." 

37 


IX. 

She  hurried  from  my  presence  angrily, 
Leaving  my  thoughts  in  deep  perplexity. 
My  ears  were  tingling  with  a  sense  of  shame. 
I  felt  bewildered  by  the  unjust  blame, 
And  pondered  thus, — the  gossip  may  be  right ; 
Henceforth  let  all  romances  take  their  flight. 
I  will  be  strong  enough  to  do  my  part 
In  useful  life.     Nonsense  from  out  my  heart 
Be  banished,  from  this  time  for  evermore. 
Donning  my  shawl,  with  fear  I  went  before 
Eudora's  mother,  sitting  sternly  there. 
I  knelt  beside  her,  clinging  in  despair 
To  the  one  hope  that  I  was  still  beloved, 
And  my  unselfish  motive  could  be  proved. 
She  pushed  me  from  her  so  impatiently, 
I  plead  with  her,  and  cried  distractedly, 
"  For  dear  Eudora's  sake  !  I  come  to  you 
With  love  for  her,  and  my  devotion  true ; 
And,  as  a  friend,  I  wished  to  let  you  know 
What  I  feel  sure  will  lighten  present  woe. 

38 


Alvin  has  sworn  to  father,  he  will  claim 
Eudora  soon;  to  share  his  love  and  name.' 


x. 

A  softened  light  her  saddened  face  o'erspread  ; 
She  clasped  me  in  her  arms  and,  sobbing,  said, 
"  Pray  do  not  mention  that  distracted  boy ! 
Eudora's  life  is  blighted.     Her  first  joy, 
By  fancy  brought,  is  darkly  clouded  now. 
No  word  of  his— no  gallant,  manly  vow- 
Can  take  the  sting  from  the  old  hermit's  rage, 
Who  blotted  her  young  life's  most  blissful  page." 
Ere  she  had  finished  came  Eudora,  pale, 
Submissive,  silent ;  and  my  words  would  fail 
Half  to  express  the  sadness  of  my  heart 
Wounded  by  friendship's  sympathetic  dart. 
I  pressed  upon  her  lips  my  kisses  warm, 
And  strove  to  drive  away  the  gathered  storm. 
Feeling  that  love  would  other  aid  demand, 
I  slipped  my  crumpled  lines  within  her  hand. 

39 


The  watchful  mother  saw,  and  sternly  said, 

"  That  paper  give  to  me  !     I've  been  misled 

In  trusting  such  a  go-between  as  you !" 

She  seized  the  lines  in  haste  and  read  them  through. 


TCfEUDoKA 


Trust  in  our  Lord  divine  ; 
Who  made  the  sun  to  shine 

With  radiant  light. 
Yet  'tis  not  always  day, 
Sunbeams  dissolve  away 

In  sombre  night. 

Then  why  should  mortals  weep 
If  joys  they  cannot  keep 

Within  their  power  ? 
Sorrow  shall  pass  from  thee, 
Sweet  bliss  from  trouble  free 

Shall  charm  thy  bower. 
40 


Night's  shadows  will  have  gone 
When  bright  and  rosy  dawn 

Unveils  the  sun, 
And  dries  the  tears  of  eve. 
So,  darling,  cease  to  grieve. 

God's  will  be  done. 

XI. 

Embracing  me  again;  she  checked  her  tears 
And  said,  "  Your  words  allay  a  mother's  fears. 
May  Heaven  reward  you  for  the  spirit  shown 
That  lifts  this  prayerful  tribute  to  the  throne 
Of  Him  who  gave  us  light,  the  glorious  sun ; 
And  teaches  us  to  say,  God's  will  be  done." 
Eudora  pressed  me  to  her  heart  awhile, 
Blending  her  kisses  with  a  tearful  smile. 
And  from  that  hour,  amid  the  gloom,  appeared 
The  dawning  sunshine  that  her  young  life  cheered, 
With  new-born  hope-star  shining  brilliantly, 
Guiding  her  prayerful  thoughts  far  o'er  the  sea. 


41 


GANT9  III. 


WINTER,  that  frigid  King,  an  umpire  bold 
Between  the  Sunshine  and  the  North-winds  cold, 
Sat  throned  on  ice,  in  robe  of  purest  snow, 
His  crown  of  sparkling  brilliants  bright,  aglow 
With  icicles  resplendent,  fringing  o'er 
Incrusted  trees  that  kingly  orders  wore ; 
Bedecked  was  every  branch  with  virgin  white, 
The  roofs  and  fences  shone  with  crystals  bright ; 
The  gloomy  clouds  soon  gathered  like  a  frown 
Over  the  skies,  sifting  soft  snow-flakes  down, 
Flake  chasing  flake  from  the  broad  canopy, 
Drifting  o'er  fields  in  swift  immensity. 
Deep  were  the  drifts  obstructing  path  and  road 
When  ceased  the  storm.     I  saw  the  teamsters  goad 
Their  oxen,  ploughing  up  on  either  side 
The  banking  snow  to  make  a  passage  wide. 


I  watched  them  as  they  slowly  gained  the  top 

Of  the  high  bluff,  and  then'  I  saw  them  stop. 

The  drivers  left  their  teams  awhile  to  rest, 

Then  ploughed  their  way  and  broke  through  crusted  crest 

Of  one  huge  bank  that  blocked  the  hermitage, 

Clearing  the  path  of  the  secluded  Sage. 


II. 

On  their  return,  after  the  cut  was  made, 
The  teamster  signalled  to  us  with  his  spade ; 
Eebecca  went  to  learn  the  mystery. 
At  her  approach  he  called,  excitedly, 
"  That  poor  old  man  up  there  is  nearly  dead; 
We  found  him  cold  and  starving  in  his  bed ; 
Lucky  we  went  there, — he  could  scarcely  speak, 
But  begged  us  your  young  mistress  go  and  seek ; 
1  Tell  her,'  said  he,  '  at  once  to  come  to  me.'  " 
My  mother  joined  my  mission  tenderly, 
An  urgent  summons  for  the  doctor  sent, 
While  we  to  succor  the  poor  hermit  went. 

46 


Never  shall  I  forget  that  cheerless  scene : 
In  bed,  his  heavy  coverlets  between, 
Lay  the  poor  hermit,  from  a  sudden  stroke 
Of  serious  illness,  struggling  as  he  spoke  ; 
A  ghastly  smile  illumed  his  shrunken  face, 
When  by  his  side  I  sadly  took  my  place. 
With  feeble  voice  he  faintly  whispered  me, 
"This  visit  crowns  your  noblest  charity." 


III. 

A  cordial  to  his  lips  I  held, — he  drank, 
And  vainly  strove  with  faltering  voice  to  thank 
In  his  old  stately  way.     I  shook  my  head 
With  finger  to  my  lips.     "  Speak  not !"  I  said. 
Then  as  I  realized  his  famished  state, 
I  feared  our  ministration  came  too  late ; 
But  the  good  doctor  soon  relieved  my  care 
By  saying,  "  Partial  palsy,  and  I  dare 
Express  the  hope — his  constitution  strong — 
That  I  may  cure  him  and  his  life  prolong." 

47 


Then  o'er  the  sufferer's  face  there  passed  a  flame, 

A  sudden  flush,  as  if  of  wakened  shame. 

"  I  live,"  he  cried,  "  a  burden.     Oh,  my  God  ! 

Better  by  far  to  rest  beneath  the  sod 

Than  bear  such  haunting  memories  as  mine, 

Without  one  cheering  ray  of  hope  to  shine." 

Before  sleep  soothed  his  agony  of  mind 

He  begged  the  doctor  proper  aid  to  find, 

Such  as  he  needed  until  life  should  end, 

Servants  and  nurse,  on  whom  he  could  depend. 


IV. 

The  man  of  skill  replied,  "  Indeed  I  can, 
Husband  and  wife,  a  nurse  and  faithful  man : 
They  shall  be  here  before  the  close  of  day." 
Turning  to  me,  he  added,  "  You  will  stay 
And  minister  to  him  another  hour ; 
Sleep  soon  will  come  to  soothe  with  magic  power." 
Waving  his  hand  toward  the  patient's  bed, 
My  anxious  glance  he  to  the  hermit  led ; 

48 


The  soothing  opiate  quickly  calmed  his  mind 
From  harrowing  thoughts  and  memories  unkind. 
The  room  was  spacious-panelled  from  the  floor ; 
Around  the  walls,  that  antique  grandeur  wore, 
Carvings  elaborate,  of  oak  so  old 
'Twas  nearly  black,  o'erlaid  with  dusty  mould. 
Draped  with  rare  tapestries,  Diana's  chase, 
Designed  from  ancient  lore  of  classic  grace. 
Here  Cynthia  and  her  hounds  in  full  career, 
With  silver  bow  pursued  the  an  tiered  deer. 
There  stood  a  cabinet  within  a  niche 
With  tracery  and  graven  figures  rich, 
That  showed  strange  work  embossed  of  beauty  rare, 
Pope,  priest,  and  acolytes  depicted  there 
And  time-worn  pictures  that  high  art  revealed 
Through  webs  the  spiders  over  them  had  reeled, 
All  but  one  face,  not  beautiful,  but  fair, 
With  silver  interlacing  raven  hair, 
Like  moonbeams  shimmering  on  the  night  of  age. 
And  in  those  lineaments,  so  like  the  Sage, 
The  while  I  studied,  I  could  plainly  trace 
4  49 


A  cruder  likeness  on  the  son's  pale  face. 

The  library  with  volumes  vellum  gray, 

All  in  disorder  tumbled,  careless  lay, 

As  if  untouched  for  months,  each  dusty  tome, 

The  mute  companions  of  the  hermit's  home. 

Weaving  strange  thoughts  from  wandering  fancy's  store, 

Until  the  hermit  woke,  and  said,  "  Before 

The  doctor  comes,  let  me  confess  to  thee. 

Let  me  my  mind  from  haunting  mem'ries  free,— 

My  cruel  treatment  of  the  bravest  boy 

That  ever  lived,  his  friends  to  crown  with  joy ; 

For  I  have  dwelt  in  lonely  misery 

Since  my  injustice  and  cold  cruelty. 

Thou  canst,  young  lady,  make  this  sorrow  less, 

If  thou  wilt  write  to  him  what  I  confess." 

My  answer  pleased  him,  it  was  plain  to  see, 

By  the  soft,  tender  look  he  cast  on  me ; 

I  promised  writing,  reading,  anything 

That  comfort  to  his  lonely  hours  would  bring. 


50 


••  b 


V. 

Then  jingling  bells  we  heard;  the  doctor  came, 
Followed  by  two  good  servants, — man  and  dame. 
Upon  the  hearth,  enframed  in  antique  tile, 
Was  built  a  fire  of  logs,  an  ample  pile, 
That  sparkling  glowed,  emitting  ruddy  rays, 
Warming  the  room  with  bright  and  cheerful  blaze. 
The  doctor  said,  "  I'll  tell  you  when  to  come ; 
It  may  be  soon." 

At  once  we  hastened  home. 
My  mother  sadly  said, — 

"  The  poor  old  man  ! 

His  life  must  have  been  wretched,  and  its  span 
Has  nearly  past.     Do  all  you  can  to  please 
And  comfort  him,  his  troubled  mind  to  ease. 
Your  letter-writing  may  make  all  things  well, 
But  nought  of  this  to  dear  Eudora  tell ; 
It  might  distress  her ;  not  a  single  word, 
Since  Alvin  left,  of  tidings  has  she  heard." 
My  mother's  wish  was  sacred  held  by  me, 
Therefore  I  kept  our  secret  silently. 


VI. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  doctor  sent 

A  note  that  read; — "  The  hermit's  mind  is  bent 

On  the  fulfilment  of  your  promise  made 

To  write  for  him,  but  I  am  much  afraid 

That  the  excitement  may  o'ertax  his  brain. 

I  write  this  caution  that  you  may  refrain 

From  subjects  irritating,  that  ensnare 

His  thoughts ;  of  all  such  themes  you  must  beware." 

When  I  approached  the  invalid  he  smiled, 

With  greeting  that  anxiety  beguiled, 

And  said,  "  I'm  thankful  thou  hast  come  to  ease 

My  troubled  mind,  my  callous  heart  to  please, 

From  haunting  memories  my  soul  to  free : 

Thou,  like  an  angel,  hast  been  sent  to  me. 

See !  take  this  folio,  and  to  Alvin  write 

All  that  my  heart  shall  prompt  me  to  indite. 


52 


TffitETTER 


Dear  boy  !     Forgive  my  temper  rude 
That  drove  thee  from  my  door : 

My  blighted  heart  was  not  indued 
With  hope  thy  young  life  bore. 

ii. 

This  simple  story  may  explain 

My  cold,  unsocial  mien. 
Thy  presence  caused  me  poignant  pain 

From  sorrows  I  had  seen. 


in. 

When  but  a  child,  the  luring  glance 
Of  beauty's  witching  wiles 

Led  me  into  the  fatal  chance 
That  tender  youth  beguiles. 
53 


I     x  ^      >  ~~~\  \' •  v  -*vVx      >*  ; 

1 


IV. 


A  maiden  fair  as  sunshine  gleams 
The  sylvan  bowers  among, 

Threaded  a  web  of  blissful  dreams, 
Filled  with  sweet  words  unsung. 


And  thou  didst  blighted  hopes  recall, 

Sad  memories  revive, — 
When  I  would  fain  have  banished  all 

Nor  kept  the  past  alive. 

VI. 

Ill  could  I  greet  with  cordial  love, 

Or  welcome  any  guest ; 
Thy  grace  of  youth  could  not  remove 

The  sorrows  of  my  breast. 


VII. 

I  loved  with  strange  intensity 
And  ardent  fond  delight, 

The  idol  of  my  destiny, 

During  our  childhood's  flight. 
54 


VIII. 


We  lived  as  neighbors  all  our 
And  with  our  growth  I  loved  ; 

Playing  the  hero  in  our  plays 
Too  proud  when  she  approved. 


IX. 


My  tutors  never  tried  to  wean 
My  heart  from  love's  fond  flame 

I  lavished  on  my  bosom's  queen, 

Nor  did  they  chide,  nor  blame. 


Time  glided  on  with  dancing  tread, 
Nor  stayed  for  love's  delays. 

The  parting  filled  my  soul  with  dread 
When  came  my  college  days. 


XL 

How  fair  she  looked.     How  brightly  glanced 

Her  eyes,  the  hue  of  night. 
Her  farewell  words  my  heart  entranced 

With  sad  yet  fond  delight. 
55 


XII. 

Her  raven  tresses  o'er  a  brow 
Pure  as  the  Alpine  snow  ; 

Her  lips — I  think  I  see  them  now- 
Curved  like  the  Archer's  bow. 


XIII. 

So  winsome  in  her  pleasantry, 
'Twas  hard  to  bid  adieu  ; 

I  kissed  her  hand  with  gallantry, 
And  sadly  I  withdrew. 

XIV. 

No  day,  no  hour,  no  moment  fled 
Unladen  with  my  sighs ; 

Until  my  disappointment  led 
To  hasty  step  unwise. 


xv. 

I  left  my  college,  hurried  home, 
My  love  once  more  to  see, 

Determined  ne'er  again  to  roam, 
From  studies  to  be  free. 
56 


XVI. 

How  stealthily  I  reached  the  hall, 
Expecting  glad  surprise : 

And  there  before  me,  I  recall 
A  scene  that  dazed  my  eyes. 

XVII. 

The  treasure  of  my  heart,  beloved, 
Sat  clasped  in  the  embrace 

Of  a  swarth  foreigner,  who  proved 
Usurper  of  my  place. 

XVIII. 

She  left  his  arms  and  smiling  said, 
"  Why  Alvin  !  art  thou  here  ? 

By  spirit  of  some  mischief  led, 
Thou  truant  boy,  I  fear." 


Then,  laughing  lightly,  as  she  gazed 

In  the  dark  stranger's  face, 
Exclaimed,  "  Marquis  !  art  thou  amazed? 

Dost  thou  no  likeness  trace  ? 
57 


"  The  hero  of  the  tale  I  told 
Last  eve?     This  is  the  child, 

My  infant  friend  ;  but  now  too  old 
To  nurse  his  fancy  wild. 


"  Alvin  !     This  is  my  lord  to  be  : 

And  so  will  be  thy  friend. 
The  Marquis  de  la  Platrovi : — 

Thy  childish  dream  must  end." 

XXII. 

Thus  she  presented  me  to  him 

With  mimic  courtesy. 
My  blood  ran  cold,  and  sight  grew  dim, 

Dazed  by  her  raillery. 


And  from  that  moment  I  desired 
To  leave  a  world  of  strife, 

And  live  in  solitude  retired 
The  studious  hermit's  life. 
58 


XXIV. 


Thenceforth,  a  dull  recluse  alone, 

A  dreary  life  I  led. 
My  blood  was  chilled,  my  heart  like  stone, 

To  love's  fond  impulse  dead. 


xxv. 

Years  rolled  on  years,  until  there  came 

A  message  ;  the  last  breath 
My  father  drew,  he  called  my  name 

Before  his  sudden  death. 

XXVI. 

My  mother  wrote,  "Alvin  !     Dear  son, 
Haste  to  our  saddened  home  ! 

Thou  art  my  child,  the  only  one 
To  comfort  me.     Pray  come  !" 


I  answered,  "  Never  home  again  ! 

Dear  mother." — That  fond  word 
Thrilled  through  my  heart  with  waking  pain 

And  whispered  I  had  erred. 


XXVIII. 


Wrapped  in  my  selfish  solitude, 
And  armed  with  cynic  pride, 

I  felt  my  spirit  quite  subdued 

By  thoughts  that  still  would  chide. 


XXIX. 


Then  passed  a  few  short  years — no  more- 

When  documents  were  sent 
That  my  dear  mother's  blessing  bore 

With  her  last  testament. 


XXX. 

My  ample  wealth  and  broad  domains 

Did  not  increase  my  care ; 
For  hands  were  held  to  take  the  gains 

That  I  was  glad  to  share. 

XXXI. 

My  relatives  were  all  unknown 

Since  I  was  but  a  child, 
When  they  had  kind  indulgence  shown, 

And  at  my  fancy  smiled. 
GO 


XXXII. 

I  gave  them  lands  and  all,  except 
The  home  and  treasures  rare, 

Some  few  of  which  I  fondly  kept 
My  hermitage  to  share. 

xxxni. 

The  cabinet,  and  pictures  all, 
Where  tender  memories  dwell ; 

But  these,  alas,  would  oft  recall 
Thoughts  that  no  tongue  could  tell. 


This  is  my  story.     Let  me  pray 
That  thou  wilt  now  forgive 

My  seeming  cruelty  that  day,— 
I  have  not  long  to  live. 


XXXV. 


I've  marked  the  character  of  her 
That  charmed  thy  youthful  heart. 

Her  beauty  made  rny  judgment  err,- 
For  wounds  unhealed  will  smart. 
61 


XXXVI. 

She  had  the  same  seductive  grace 
That  lured  me,  when  a  youth, 

That  memory  I  could  not  efface 
Nor  trust  in  woman's  truth. 

XXXVII. 

Her  worth  and  true  sincerity, 

Her  modesty  refined, 
Her  constant  heart's  fidelity 

Assure  my  doubting  mind. 

XXXVIII. 

Come,  Alvin  !  cheer  my  home  and  heart 
When  Spring  shall  wake  again. 

Come  !  take  my  blessing  and  depart 
With  love  to  soothe  thy  pain. 


xxxix. 

To  thee  my  childhood's  home  I  give, 
With  sylvan  forests  green, 

For  thee  and  thine, — I  hope  to  live 
To  see  Eudora  queen. 
62 


XL. 


Adieu  !  my  child,  my  noble  boy, 
Haste  quickly  to  my  side, 

That  I  may  quaff  a  cup  of  joy 
With  thee  and  thy  fair  bride. 


VII. 

'Twas  very  hard  my  feelings  to  command ; 
I  paused  awhile  to  rest  my  weary  hand  ; 
Slower  and  fainter  came  each  uttered  word 
Until  the  last  was  indistinctly  heard. 
Like  ebbing  tide  when  waters  silently 
Their  tributes  render  to  the  grasping  sea, 
With  fluctuating  accents  feebly  came 
In  murmured  syllables  Eu-do-ra's  name.* 
The  nurse  then  entered,  asked  me  to  withdraw, 
Saying,  "  The  doctor's  orders  are  my  law." 
At  once  I  left,  and  met  upon  my  way 
Eudora,  who  inquired  in  manner  gay, 
"  Where  have  you  been  ?" 

63 


"  Up  to  the  hermitage," 
I  answered,  "  writing  for  the  learned  Sage." 
"  What ! — Do  you  mean  you  dared  to  write  for  him  ? 
He  chose  you  confidante  ?     What  an  odd  whim  ! 
Words  you  may  spin  and  weave  in  rhythmic  tale, — 
And  yet  you  look  quite  serious  and  pale." 


VIII. 

"  Look  serious  ? — No,  but  glad  as  you  will  be 
To  know  that  poor  man's  mind  at  last  is  free 
From  unshared  sorrow. 

He  has  told  me  all." 

"  Told  you  ?     How  very  strange  !     Did  he  recall 
That  morning  by  the  brook  ?" 

Then  suddenly 

She  paused  with  glance  that  fairly  frightened  me, 
As  if  she  had  my  meaning  misapplied. 
Laughing,  I  caught  her  hand,  and  softly  sighed, 
"  Be  not  deceived,  for  I  have  just  been  taught 
That  good  is  sometimes  out  of  evil  brought. 

64 


I  wrote  a  letter  in  which  every  word 

Flowed  with  the  pensive  sorrow  that  I  heard." 

"  You  wrote  to— Alvin  !     Tell  me  all  the  rest !" 

Eudora  cried ;  and  I  could  see  her  breast 

Was  heaving  with  excitement,  as  if  she 

Felt  that  her  heart  was  struggling  to  be  free. 

"  I  wrote  to  Alvin ;  begged  him  to  forgive 

A  cruel  kinsman,  who  now  prays  to  live 

Until  he  blesses  him  and  his  first  love. 

'  All's  well  that  ends  well.'     Do  you  now  approve  ?" 

IX. 

Bright  blushes,  flitting  o'er  her  brow,  enhanced 
Her  wondrous  beauty  as  she  stood  entranced ; 
Then  clasped  me  to  her  breast  in  long  embrace, 
Showering  her  tear-dewed  kisses  on  my  face. 
"  How  I  have  loved,"  she  said,  "you  only  know; 
My  heart  revives  with  happiness  aglow. 
Pray  do  not  think  me  bold,  immaidenly, 
If,  in  his  praise,  I  speak  adoringly,— 
You  darling  dreamer ! 


65 


Ever  kind  to  me ; 

Your  words  have  filled  my  cup  with  ecstasy. 
To  you  alone  such  words  I  dare  to  speak  ; 
The  only  consolation  I  could  seek 
Was  silent  musing  on  the  hours  passed 
Down  by  the  brook,  where  love  bright  visions  cast, 
She  left  me  then,  so  near  the  close  of  day, 
A  flick'ring  taper  seemed  the  Sun's  last  ray 
O'er  crimson  banners  furling  in  the  West, 
Wooing  the  longest  winter  night  to  rest. 


x. 

That  evening  by  the  cheerful  fire  I  told 

The  hermit's  story ;  ill  could  I  withhold 

News  that  to  all  would  bring  such  glad  relief, 

And  mitigate  an  anxious  mother's  grief, — 

The  tender  tribute  to  Eudora  paid, 

And  generous  promises  to  Alvin  made, 

Awoke  compassion  with  the  sufferer's  pain 

And  prayers  that  he  would  soon  his  health  regain. 


66 


GANT9  IV. 


'TWAS  Christmas-tide,  and  brighter  beamed  our  home 

My  brothers  for  the  holidays  had  come 

With  zest  to  join  all  games  of  pastime ;— free 

For  any  part  in  gladsome  revelry. 

The  older,  Ernest,  was  my  father's  joy, 

His  pride  and  hope. 

The  younger,  quite  a  boy, — 

I  called  him  Claude,  but  Claudius  was  his  name,— 
A  devotee  to  Art,  he  toiled  for  feme. 
The  grave  pursuit  of  letters  for  awhile 
They  had  suspended,  happy  to  beguile 
The  livelong  day  with  seasonable  mirth 
And  evening  gatherings  round  the  festive  hearth. 
Our  hall  was  merry  with  its  social  cheer, 
But  out-door  sports  to  boys  are  doubly  dear. 
I  saw  them  building  up  a  monstrous  pile 

69 


Of  snow-capped  pillars  in  the  Gothic  style, 
With  fortresses  to  guard  on  either  side 
The  gateway  entrance,  where  high  arches  wide 
Were  formed  of  snow  blocks ;  but  too  frail,  alas  ! 
For  when  beneath  my  father  tried  to  pass, 
Drawn  by  fleet  horses  in  his  dashing  sleigh, 
At  once  the  massive  pillars  all  gave  way. 


II. 

Emerging  from  the  avalanche  of  snow, 
My  father  rose, — his  face  in  ruby  glow, — 
Paternal  dignity  aside  he  laid, 
And  waging  mimic  warfare,  soon  repaid 
The  boys  with  snowballs  like  a  gallant  gay, 
Until  they  both  sought  refuge  from  the  fray. 
Old  Watch,  our  dog,  as  umpire,  whimpering  tried 
To  stay  the  game.     The  honors  to  divide, 
He  held  dear  father's  coat  in  such  a  way 
It  was  impossible  for  him  to  play. 
I  petted  Watch,  and  coaxed  him  from  his  hold, 
Which  he  released. — The  conqueror  then  told 

70 


His  vanquished  foes  that  they  the  palm  must  yield, 
And  leave  to  him  the  honors  of  the  field. 
Then  from  his  sleeves  the  crumbling  snow  he  shook, 
And  laughingly  the  battle-field  forsook. 


in. 


Next  morning  to  our  circle  gayly  came 
Eudora  with  her  mother — stately  dame — 
And  aided  us  to  deck  a  gorgeous  tree, 
When  Claude,  our  artist,  added  jokingly, 
"  Eudora's  pretty  miniature  must  grace 
The  tip-top  branch  !     There  I  will  proudly  place 
My  first  attempt  to  paint  an  angel  lair, 
With  sunshine  gleaming  from  her  golden  hair, 
And  light  of  love  reposing  in  her  eyes, 
Blue  as  the  depth  of  the  celestial  skies." 
One  figure  there  my  memory  can  recall, 
My  brother  Ernest,  dignified  and  tall, 
Watching  the  portrait  by  the  artist's  side, 
As  if  the  truthful  likeness  to  decide. 

71 


Did  he  Eudora's  tender  glance  mistake 
Which  thoughts  of  Alvin  only  could  awake  ? 


IV. 

As  touch  on  touch  the  artist's  pencil  gave, 
The  sunbeams  lighted  up  each  tress  and  wave, 
Like  saintly  nimbus  or  pure  vestal  crown, 
O'er  her  fair  brow  unsullied  by  a  frown. 
With  joy  we  loved  to  watch  creative  power 
That  added  life  to  beauty  every  hour. 
Finished  at  last  and  on  the  tree-top  placed, 
Its  throne  of  honor  well  the  picture  graced. 
On  the  broad  branches  many  tapers  gleamed, 
And  twinkling  lights  like  mimic  meteors  beamed; 
The  chandeliers  their  brilliant  radiance  shed, 
As  Ernest  through  the  dance  Eudora  led, — 
Through  the  time-honored,  stately  minuet, 
As  queen  of  beauty  in  that  courtly  set. 
He  gazed  upon  her  with  devoted  pride, 
As  though  no  other  could  his  glance  divide ; 

72 


And,  as  I  watched  awhile,  a  wish  arose, 

That  friendship's  voice  forbade  me  to  disclose. 

I  felt  my  heart  with  strange  emotions  swell, 

To  greet  as  sister  one  I  loved  so  well, 

Yet  banished  the  disloyalty  it  bore, 

And  entertained  the  treacherous  wish  no  more. 


v. 

Fairer  than  ever  on  that  festive  night 
Her  lithe  form  shone  in  robe  of  snowy  white, 
Of  style  antique,  befitting  queenly  grace, 
With  flowing  train  draped  with  the  finest  lace 
No  gem  its  lustre  to  her  beauty  lent, 
"With  unadorned  simplicity  content. 
My  father  danced  with  me  in  stately  style, 
Observing  Ernest  with  a  gracious  smile ; 
Then  whispered  words  intended  for  my  ear, 
"  I  fear  your  brother  is  in  danger,  dear ! 
'Twill  never  do. — You  surely  told  him  all,— 
He  must  at  once  his  wandering  heart  recall. 

73 


See  you  that  smile  ?     The  happy  look  he  wears  ? 
They  rouse  in  me  an  anxious  parent's  cares 
She  loves  another,  Ernest  ought  to  know, 
"Tis  thought  of  Alvin  wakes  the  rosy  glow, 
That  beams  upon  her  face  with  fond  delight. 
Poor  dazzled  Ernest !     If  he  had  the  right 
To  claim  Eudora  as  his  lovely  bride, 
His  choice  would  gratify  our  love  and  pride." 

VI. 

The  music  ceased, — the  regal  minuet,— 
With  parting  courtesies  closed  the  stately  set. 
The  next  cotillion's  lively  measures  through, 
With  Ernest  as  my  partner,  fast  we  flew 
To  the  inspiring  music  merrily, 
His  face  alight  with  perfect  ecstasy. 
Soon  as  the  figure  gave  a  moment's  rest, 
Still  nearer  to  my  brother's  side  I  pressed, 
And  whispered  softly,  "  Alvin  soon  will  come 
To  take  Eudora  to  his  distant  home : 
How  we  shall  miss  her." 

74 


"  Miss  is  not  the  word," 
He  answered,  in  a  phrase  I  scarcely  heard, 
While  gathered  o'er  his  brow  a  sombre  cloud, 
As  if  the  sunshine  of  his  life  to  shroud ; 
And  while  we  held  our  secret  colloquy, 
My  father  glanced  at  me  approvingly. 


VII. 

Eight  gayly  sped  on  fleeting  wings  the  hours 

That  festive  eve,  among  the  holly  bowers ; 

And  from  one  chandelier  there  hung  below 

A  garland  formed  of  pearl-tipped  mistletoe, 

A  mystical,  uplifted  Druid  wreath 

That  merry  maidens  lightly  skipped  beneath ; 

For  if  at  midnight  hour  a  votress  came, 

Dreams  would  reveal  her  destined  husband's  name. 

And  at  that  moment  gladsome  chimes  were  borne 

From  pealing  bells  to  herald  Christmas  morn. 

With  happy  wishes  blending  each  adieu, 

Our  friends  from  festive  merriment  withdrew. 


I  sought  my  couch,  but  no  assuring  dream, — 

No  sleep  would  come.     Confusing  thoughts  would  teem 

Through  my  poor  head ;  forebodings  that  the  love 

Of  Ernest  for  Eudora  soon  would  prove 

A  fatal  hindrance  to  his  happiness  ; 

My  only  wish  was  that  his  love  were  less. 

Slow  passed  the  leaden  hours  till  dawning  day 

Awoke  with  Orient  hues  in  bright  display, 

Of  glorious  sunshine  to  illume  the  skies, 

Tinting  the  snow-capt  hills  with  warmer  dyes, 

Adding  new  pleasure  to  the  joys  of  earth, 

To  celebrate  our  dear  Redeemer's  birth. 


VIII. 

The  matin  services  divine  were  o'er, 
And  every  face  a  smile  of  gladness  wore. 
On  our  return,  there  came  a  hasty  scrawl, 
Penned  by  the  hermit,  begging  me  to  call 
That  Christmas  morning,  and  be  sure  to  bring 
My  friend  Eudora,  who,  he  hoped,  would  sing 

76 


One  chant  to  cheer  his  loneliness  and  raise 

His  thoughts  above  the  world  in  sacred  praise, 

And  soothe  his  sufferings  on  that  hallowed  day. 

To  grant  his  wish,  we  hastened  to  obey. 

My  gentle  friend  had  never  been  before 

To  see  the  Sage ;  and,  as  we  passed  the  door, 

He  welcomed  us  with  a  most  cordial  smile. 

Clasping  our  hands  in  silence  for  awhile, 

He  scanned  Eudora's  face  as  if  to  seek 

Lost  joys  remembered  that  no  words  could  speak ; 

The  scene  affected  us  with  sad  surprise, 

When  tears  suffused  his  fondly  glancing  eyes. 


Soon  he  with  faltering  voice  exclaimed,  "  This  bliss 
Should  win  from  thee,  my  child,  a  daughter's  kiss." 
Eudora,  trembling,  and  with  heaving  breast, 
Upon  his  brow  her  filial  kisses  pressed. 
I  left  them  thus,— no  need  had  they  of  me, 
There  mingling  tears  in  sacred  sympathy. 

77 


Meeting  the  nurse,  I  said,  persuasively, 
"  Pray,  come  with  me  into  the  library; 
Let  me  look  o'er  the  chants, — I  will  prepare 
The  simple  part  in  which  I  am  to  share." 
Thinking  awhile  in  silence  to  remain, 
I  conned  the  music  o'er  and  o'er  again, 
Until  the  nurse,  impatient  at  delay, 
Said,  "  Master  will  wonder  if  you  longer  stay." 
I  followed  to  the  bedside,  where  still  knelt 
Eudora,  listening  to  kind  words.     I  felt 
Embarrassed  till  she,  rising,  took  my  hand, 
Striving  in  vain  her  feelings  to  command ; 
Her  warbled  accents,  musical  and  clear, 
In  trembling  cadence  fell  upon  the  ear ; 
Then  swelled  in  fuller  tones  sweet  melody 
Of  Christmas  anthems  jubilant  and  free. 

x. 

My  brothers  soon  were  called  from  home  away, 

For  college  duties  limited  their  stay ; 

Quite  changed  was  Ernest, — haughty,  cold,  and  sad,- 

73 


And  we  who  knew  the  cause  were  very  glad 
To  have  him  seek  with  zest  his  books  once  more, 
With  interest  as  great  as  e'er  before ; 
Hoping  hard  study  would  relieve  his  woe. 
Our  artist,  full  of  fun,  though  loath  to  go, 
Left  light  of  heart,  his  boyish  fancy  free 
As  any  child's  in  love  with  art  could  be. 
So  passed  the  winter,  with  its  pleasures  gay, 
The  happy  hours  like  dreams  dissolved  away ; 
Until  the  spring,  its  glories  to  acclaim, 
With  singing  birds  and  vernal  beauties  came. 
One  morning  with  Eudora  near  the  brook, 
I  suddenly  exclaimed  to  her,  "  Do  look, 
There  is  the  doctor  beckoning  to  me !" 
And,  as  I  spoke,  he  joined  us  instantly, 
Exclaiming,  "  Ah  !  I  find  you  both  at  last," 
As  to  Eudora  he  a  letter  passed. 
The  way  he  fumbled  many  papers  o'er 
Caused  me  to  think  the  package  others  bore ; 
My  hand  to  him  I  held  expectantly ; 
Shaking  his  head,  he  answered  teasingly, 


XI. 

"  No  letter  for  Miss  Eila,  but  instead, 
A  verbal  message ; — letters  to  be  read 
Await  you  now  up  at  the  hermitage. 
The  hermit  cannot  read  each  tear-stained  page ; 
He  wishes  you  to  visit  him  alone ; 
Never  before  has  he  such  interest  shown. 
Go  you  at  once,  your  friend  is  entertained  ; 
Her  sweet  oblivion  is  far  from  feigned." 
There  sat  Eudora,  lost  to  all  beside, 
Her  face  aglow  with  warm  exultant  pride, 
Drinking  the  wafted  words  from  Alvin's  pen 
Breathing  responsive  love ;  I  left  her  then, 
And  hastened  through  the  nearest  path  that  led 
Up  the  high  bluff.     Beside  the  hermit's  bed, 
I  read  the  letter,  Alvin's  fond  reply, 
Pausing,  yet  trying  to  suppress  a  sigh  ; 
Those  words  of  gratitude  were  fond  and  free, 
Yet  there  were  threatening  clouds  of  destiny. 
It  was  not  long  before  Eudora  came, 
Speaking  with  genial  smile  the  hermit's  name ; 

80 


She  pressed  a  filial  kiss  upon  his  brow, 
Saying,  "  I  bring  good  news  from  Alvin  now  ! 
Yes,  from  dear  Alvin,  who  may  soon  be  here 
Expectant  hearts  with  happiness  to  cheer." 


XII. 


Observing  then  the  letter  in  my  hand, 

She  gayly  said,  "  Ah  !  now  I  understand 

The  reason  why  you  left  me  all  alone, 

That  you  might  share  with  our  clear  friend  your  own. 

How  kind  and  thoughtful. 

What  does  Alvin  say  ? 
May  we  expect  him  at  an  early  day  ? 
Confused  were  we,  reluctant  to  destroy, 
Until  compelled,  her  momentary  joy. 
The  hermit  answered,  "  Welcome  art  thou  here, 
Thy  charming  presence  every  doubt  shall  cheer,— 
The  letter  was  to  me.     Read  it  and  find, 
Although  he'd  gladly  come,  his  duties  bind." 
Eudora  read  the  letter  slowly  through, 
Then,  sighing,  said,  "  Oh,  it  is  sad  and  true,— 
t  81 


His  joys,  not  sorrows,  he  would  have  me  share ; 
But  gladly  will  I  help  him  both  to  bear." 


XIII. 

Awhile  we  sat  in  silence,  thinking  o'er 
The  threatened  dangers  that  the  tidings  bore. 
Upon  Eudora's  face  a  new  light  spread, 
Still  sitting  near  the  sufferer,  she  said, 
"  This  is  a  shadow,  Eila,  such  as  you 
Once  traced  in  lines  prophetically  true  ; 
'  We  cannot  have  all  sunshine, — needed  night 
Prepares  us  to  enjoy  the  glorious  light.'  " 
'  'Tis  as  I  thought,"  the  hermit  gladly  cried, 
"  Worthy  art  thou  to  be  a  hero's  bride  ! — 
And  my  amanuensis  thou  shalt  be : 
We  will  inspire  him  on  to  victory, 
Quoting  great  Nelson's  maxim  all  admire, 
At  duty's  call  to  face  the  foeman's  fire." 
Eudora  caught  his  hand  impulsively, 
Saying,  "  Your  words  I  treasure  fervently. 

82 


'Tis  not  less  duty,  but  my  joy  to  heed 
His  every  wish." 

*'  Eila,  once  more,  please  read 
The  letter,  for  thou  hast  a  stronger  tone, 
That  every  wish  of  his  to  us  be  known." 
So  spoke  the  hermit,  and  with  accents  clear 
I  read  the  letter  held  by  all  so  dear. 


To  MR.  ALVIN  ALSTEE, 

BUENEL  BLUFFS, 

WESTLAND. 


Dear  parent  of  my  new-born  bliss, 
With  joy  my  heart  renewing, 

In  gratitude  I  write  thee  this, 
Thy  words  new  hope  induing. 


II. 

Ill  can  my  pen  due  thanks  express 
'  To  thee  in  form  of  letter ; 
So  tame  these  words  of  happiness 
That  gratitude  doth  fetter. 
83 


Dear  benefactor !     Gracious  sire  ! 

Thanks  for  thy  generous  measure  ; 
The  boon  that  meets  my  whole  desire, 

This  store  of  earthly  pleasure. 


Fain  would  I  cast  all  care  aside, 
However  stern  and  binding, 

To  seek  my  love,  my  beauteous  bride. 
And  crown  my  joy  in  finding. 


Alas  !  this  cruel  destiny  ! 

My  fate  still  unrelenting, 
For  lover's  flight  I  am  not  free, 

Stern  duty's  call  preventing. 

VI. 

My  ship  is  ordered  far  away 
To  distant  wars  now  waging, 

Where  we  must  join  in  hostile  fray, 
Our  fleet  the  foe  engaging. 
84 


VII. 


To  thee,  dear  sire,  this  news  I  send. 

The  cause  of  my  detention 
Are  perils  that  my  way  attend, 

Of  which  pray  make  no  mention. 


Enclosed,  for  dear  Eudora,  find 
A  note  with  love-lore  teeming  ; 

Breathing  no  word  to  pain  her  mind, 
Or  startle  love's  sweet  dreaming. 

IX. 

To  our  friend  Eila,  stanch  and  tried, 

So  tender,  sympathetic, 
Thou  may'st  my  present  care  confide 

To  her,  with  hope  prophetic ; 


That  she  may  hide  in  merry  way, 
With  pleasantry,  concealing 

From  dear  Eudora  this  delay, 
The  danger  not  revealing. 
85 


XI. 

My  warmest  thanks  to  her  convey, 

And  say,  I  hope  to  meet  her 
On  my  return  most  joyfully, 

With  brother's  love  to  greet  her. 

XII. 

Oh,  may  it  be  not  far  away, 

When  war  shall  cease  dividing 
My  hopes,  and  bring  our  wedding  day, 
With  love  and  joy  presiding. 

Gratefully  thine, 
ALVHT. 


V. 


THE  glass  of  Time  impeded  seemed  to  be;— 
So  slowly  moved  the  sands  of  destiny. 
In  daily  visits  to  the  hermitage 
Eudora  sought  the  counsel  of  the  Sage. 
She  greeted  him  with  blushes  warm  aglow, 
Like  rosebud  melting  with  a  touch  the  snow 
Of  frosty  age.     The  hermit  day  by  day 
Improved  in  health,  and  often  would  repay 
By  kind  instruction  all  we  did  for  him. 
With  voice  less  tremulous,  with  eyes  less  dim, 
Quoting  wise  apologues  from  classic  lore, 
The  gathered  gleanings  from  a  boundless  store, 
Lessons  for  our  instruction  well  designed, 
New  jewels  from  the  thoughts  of  cultured  mind, 
With  truths  more  potent  than  the  tales  of  chance 
That  fascinate  by  folly's  airy  trance. 

89 


We  heard  his  words  by  genius  true  inspired, 
Bright  like  the  diamond  by  rough  usage  fired, 
With  radiant  lustre  as  Aladdin's  gems, 
More  brilliant  than  those  fabled  diadems, — 
They  hold  an  honored  seat  in  memory's  hall, — 
Would  that  my  pen  his  thought-gems  could  recall. 

II. 

Early  one  morn  we  visited  our  friend 
In  kind  communion  one  brief  hour  to  spend ; 
With  welcome  greeting  warm  and  genial  smile 
He  strove  by  words  of  wisdom  to  beguile 
Our  thoughts  from  earth-born  cares  to  heavenly  themes, 
Filling  our  minds  with  pure,  poetic  dreams. 
11  Behold,"  said  he,  "  the  heavens  in  grand  display  ! 
Their  opening  gates  let  forth  the  new-born  day, 
The  infant  morn  encradled  in  bright  gold, 
While  circling  hours  their  rosy  tints  unfold. 
Mark  the  uplifting  veil  of  dewy  mist ! 
See  how  the  waking  Sun  hath  warmly  kissed 
The  glowing  face  of  nature  !     Glorious  sight ! 

90 


-  SiQ'ONS 
"  Beliold,"  said  he,  "the  waning  moon's  cold  ln-ams' 


.4 


Beaming  with  radiant  rays  of  dazzling  light. 
A  crown  of  glory  decks  his  sovereign  head 
And  Orient  splendors  o'er  his  path  are  shed ; 
Pleased  the  Almighty's  mandate  to  obey 
'  The  greater  light  goes  forth  to  rule  the  day.'" 
He  paused  as  if  by  some  deep  thought  impressed, 
Then  turned,  and  pointing  to  the  distant  West,— 
"  Behold,"  said  he,  "  the  waning  moon's  cold  beams ! 
How  pales  the  argent  in  the  golden  gleams. 
Slowly  she  passes,  facing  him  the  while, 
And  sinks  below  the  steep  with  fainter  smile, 
By  heavenly  fiat  rules  the  lesser  light, 
Imperial  regent  of  the  silent  night. 
Her  car  moves  onward  with  majestic  pace 
Guided  by  laws  divine :  her  placid  face 
From  crescent  gleaming  'neath  the  shade  of  earth 
Grows  till  the  harvest  season  kindles  mirth. 
The  gleaners  from  their  garners  then  repair 
With  joy  in  merry-making  feast  to  share ; 
Thanking  their  bounteous  Maker  for  the  yield 
Of  much  or  little,  from  the  cultured  field. 

91 


Thrice  happy  they  who  joyfully  receive 
And  in  God's  blessed  providence  believe. 
Behold  the  flowers  their  grateful  incense  raise, 
Dry  their  dew-tears  and  waft  adoring  praise 
To  Him  who  decked  the  lily  of  the  vale 
In  modest  white,  like  virgin  pure  and  pale, 
Who  mantled  Sharon's  rose  with  blushes  fair 
And  gave  the  violet  royal  robes  to  wear. 
All  blossoms  blooming  by  his  hand  arrayed 
To  bask  in  sunshine  or  sequestered  shade, 
Each  blade  of  grass,  each  leaf  of  shrub  or  tree 
Mute  thanks  uplifts  to  God  adoringly. 


"ATORTVTIoN 

"  Her  homage  to  the  Deity 
All  nature  pays.     Behold  the  sea  ! 
In  grandeur  as  they  ebb  and  flow. 
The  waves  to  God  are  bowing  low  : 
The  waking  flowers,  the  rising  breeze, 
The  rustling  leaves  of  plants  and  trees, 


'Mid  thousand  charms  that  d.-ck.-d   the   varied  SIVIK 


The  birds  with  matin  melody, 

The  patient  kine  on  bended  knee, 

The  insects  floating  in  the  air 

With  droning  music, — everywhere, — 

The  notes  of  adoration  swell 

To  Him  who  doeth  all  things  well. 

For  God  is  love, — His  works  sublime 

Declare  his  praise  through  endless  time." 


III. 

He  ceased,  and  o'er  us,  as  a  mantle  fell 
Unbroken  silence  like  some  mystic  spell, 
While  we  were  seated  in  the  open  air 
Our  view  extending  over  beauties  rare. 
'Mid  thousand  charms  that  decked  the  varied  scene 
The  river  rushing  giant  bluffs  between, 
Laving  their  base  of  hoary  granite  gray 
Boiling  impetuous  on  its  outward  way  ; 
With  never-failing  waters  wild  and  free, 
A  ceaseless  tribute  to  the  sovereign  sea. 
Sacred  our  thoughts  while  silence  thus  ensued, 
No  lighter  theme  could  on  our  minds  intrude. 

93 


Do  ansels  hover  near  and  touch  the  cheek 

O 

Of  one  from  silence  first  inspired  to  speak? 

So  was  I  taught,  so  trusted  from  a  child, 

At  angel  whispers  slumbering  infants  smiled. 

Eudora  was  the  first,  with  praise  sincere 

She  thanked  our  friend  for  leading  her  so  near 

The  sacred  portals  of  the  heavens  above, 

Lifting  her  heart  with  adoration, — love 

And  faith,  as  flowers  their  fragrant  incense  raise, 

And  breathe  sweet  thanks  that  waft  their  Maker's  praise, 

"  Thus  all  are  blessed,  by  wisdom  guided  still," 

The  hermit  said,  "  obedient  to  God's  will — 


"  A  shadow  follows  every  one 

Whene'er  he  walks  in  sunny  ways 
And  meets  the  flood  of  brilliant  rays, — 
A  figure  dun 


Keeps  pace  with  him  ;  or  fast  or  slow, 
That  ghostly  shape  is  ever  near, 
A  dwarf  or  giant  to  appear 
In  sombre  show. 
94 


-^}, 

>A! 
-  o< 


1  On  him  whose  life  is  free  from  guile, 
Who  walks  in  paths  of  truth  and  light, 
All  harmless  falls  the  pall  of  night, 
Beneath  God's  smile. 

'  But  whoso  turns  against  the  sun 
Beholds  a  dark  form  glide  before 
With  noiseless  step  his  pathway  o'er, 
The  dusky  one. 

"  In  shadow  he  must  ever  tread 

Who  chooses  darkness  for  his  way ; 
On  him  the  golden  beams  of  day 
No  radiance  shed. 


May  we  as  children  of  the  light, 
Illumined  by  God's  love  divine, 
Still  keep  that  path's  unswerving  line 
With  sunbeams  bright." 


IV. 


Three  years  had  passed,  with  many  changes  rife 
My  brothers  were  at  home,  imparting  life 

95 


To  our  sad  circle.     Great  anxiety 

We  felt  for  Alvin.     Eumors  constantly 

Were  wafted  to  us ;  but  from  him  no  word, 

Since  his  fond  letter,  had  Eudora  heard. 

While  thus  our  minds  by  hope  and  fear  were  tossed, 

The  tidings  came  that  his  good  ship  was  lost. 

From  this  we  strove  to  guard  Eudora's  ears, 

Yet  knew  she  apprehended  by  her  tears. 

Pale  grew  her  cheek  with  cold  and  silent  grief ; 

No  friend  could  soothe,  no  hope  could  bring  relief; 

Naught  could  alleviate  her  misery, 

Until  one  morn  she  wildly  came  to  me, 

Seizing  my  hand,  she  cried,  "  What  do  they  say  ? 

What  news  from  Alvin  ? 

Oh,  this  hapless  day  ! 

My  heart  is  breaking  now  with  tortures  slow ; 
Despair  succeeds  to  soul-consuming  woe." 
I  could  not,  dared  not,  the  sad  tidings  tell, 
But  kissed  her  pallid  face  I  loved  so  well, — 
"  'Tis  idle  gossip,  nothing  more,"  I  said ; 
"  You  must  have  patience  and  by  faith  be  led 

96 


Until  detaining  war  shall  end  in  peace, 
And  Alvin  from  his  urgent  charge  release." 


v. 

Bright  beamed  Eudora's  face ;  her  smiles  came  back 
Like  sunshine  breaking  through  a  rifted  rack ; 
Embracing  me,  she  cried,  "  To  you  I  owe 
This  new-born  joy, — this  hope's  celestial  glow, 
From  boding  rumors  cloaked  in  mystery. 
How  could  they  know  ? 

There  was  no  news  for  me : 
Would  I  had  earlier  consulted  you, 
And  felt  those  cruel  tidings  were  not  true  : 
You  have  illuminated  life's  dark  page.— 
Now  let  us  visit  our  good  friend,  the  Sage ! 
I  have  not  been  myself,  my  hope  so  dim,— 
Therefore  I  had  a  dread  of  meeting  him. 
He  looked  on  me  so  strangely  sad  and  cold, 
As  if  he  strove  some  secret  to  withhold." 
Though  conscience  whispered  I  had  done  amiss 
Thus  to  impart  a  short-lived,  groundless  bliss, 

97 


Like  ignis-fatuus  to  light  her  way, 
With  gayety  my  part  I  tried  to  play. 
Entwining  arms  we  visited  our  friend, 

O  ' 

An  hour  in  social  cheer  with  him  to  spend ; 
His  health  improved,  long  walks  he  daily  took. 
Meeting  there  beside  the  babbling  brook 
He  walked  with  us  the  winding  path  along. 
I  bade  Eudora  sing  her  favorite  song ; — 


VI. 

"  Yes/'  said  the  hermit ;  "  sing  some  melody 
To  rouse  the  sleeping  echoes  cheerily." 
I  saw  he  also  had  assumed  a  part 
Of  pleasantry  to  cheer  Eudora's  heart. 
She,  smiling,  sang  in  silvery  cadence  clear 
"  The  Brook," — sweet  madrigal  we  loved  to  hear 
And  while  I  listened  to  the  sparkling  lay, 
It  seemed  no  longer  time  than  yesterday 
Since  Alvin  first  into  our  presence  carne 
And  from  Eudora  took  his  scrap  of  game. 

98 


Then  o'er  my  mind  swift  rushed  the  parting  scene, 

When,  by  the  brook,  the  hermit  came  between 

Her  heart  and  its  first  fond  awaking  love, 

Coldly  her  aspirations  to  reprove. 

Since  then  more  charming  had  Eudora  grown, 

Now,  like  a  sylvan  queen  on  vernal  throne, 

She  sang  as  if  inspired  by  memory, 

Winning  from  me  my  fond  idolatry. 

My  love  had  grown  with  admiration  deep, 

And  in  her  presence  ever  would  I  keep 

With  true  devotion,  while  her  love  for  me 

Was  passive,  loyal,  and  indulgently 

She  humored,  like  the  whims  of  some  pet  child, 

My  varied  moods  and  fancies  ofttimes  wild. 


Be  on  the  wing,' 


vir. 

My  brothers  joined  us  now. 
I  whispered  Claude,  "  that  contrast  rare  to  brin 
Observe  the  austere  hermit  sitting  there, 
And  see  Eudora,  like  a  vision  fair." 

99 


Then  Ernest,  bending  o'er  me,  sadly  said, 

"  Another  subject  he  may  add  instead." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean?"  I  whispered,  with  surprise ;- 

He  answered  not,  save  by  suppressing  sighs. 

I  felt  annoyed,  then  listened  to  the  song 

That  rippled  with  the  rivulet  along. 

Soft  fell  the  strains  in  cadence  clear  and  low, 

Waking  the  wavelets  as  the  waters  flow. 

Until  she  ceased  the  sweet  familiar  strain, 

And  ended  with  the  musical  refrain, — 

"  And  out  again  I  curve,  I  flow, 
To  join  the  brimming  river  ; 
For  men  may  corne  and  men  may  go, 
But  I  go  on  forever " 

Then  through  the  parting  bushes  I  espied 
Our  long  lost  Alvin.     "  See  !  oh,  see  !"  I  cried. 
He  only  heard  the  last  trilled  word  "  forever" 
From  his  Eudora's  lips.     "  Yes,  thine  forever  !" 
He  whispered,  as  he  clasped  her  to  his  breast, 
His  happiness  and  fondest  love  expressed. 
100 


VIII. 

Then  followed  moments  filled  with  silent  joy. 
The  Sage  exclaimed,  "  Thank  God  !  my  noble  boy  ! 
Thou  hast  returned  to  claim  thy  promised  bride  ;— 
I  bless  ye  both  with  all  a  lather's  pride." 
How  tame  are  words  describing  scenes  like  this,— 
The  warm  embrace,  the  tender  welcome  kiss, 
The  joyful  greeting  from  all  gathered  there, 
Save  Ernest  only,— he  was  then  my  care,— 
To  seek  this  brother,  gladly  would  I  go 
Bid  him  take  courage,  aid  him  then  to  throw 
Far,  far  away  all  thought  of  fated  wrong, 
And  beg  him  join  at  once  our  happy  throng. 
Soon  all  had  left.     Alvin  beside  his  love 
Passed  through  the  path  that  led  through  maple  grove 
To  Kosemont  cottage,  jubilant  and  gay. 
'Twas  the  first  visit  that  the  Sage  would  pay, 
With  sympathetic  joy,  his  face  aglow, 
As  if  exultant  that  the  world  should  know 
His  new-found  bliss.     Soon  as  they  disappeared 
I  searched  for  Ernest,  and  what  most  I  feared 

101 


Was  realized.     Beneath  an  old  gnarled  oak, 
Whose  branches,  rifted  by  the  lightning  stroke 
And  roughly  twisted,  formed  a  sheltered  seat, 
I  found  him  hidden  in  that  wild  retreat. 


IX. 

Veiled  by  the  mosses  of  its  death-wrought  shroud, 
There  sat  my  brother  with  his  head  low  bowed 
Upon  his  hands ; — I  saw  his  heaving  breast, 
His  poor  heart  throbbing  in  its  wild  unrest. 
"  Ernest,"  I  whispered,  "this  must  never  be; 
Compose  yourself  to  meet  your  destiny. 
Eudora  is  so  happy — Alvin  true  — 
Congratulations  from  us  all  are  due ; 
They  have  not  missed  you  yet, — oh,  come  with  me, 
And  let  no  other  eyes  this  sadness  see." 
Around  his  neck  my  arms  I  gently  twined, 
With  kisses  fond  and  cheering  words  combined, 
Striving  to  woo  him  from  the  hapless  mood 
That  seared  his  heart,  by  jealousy  imbued. 
102 


'l  V  If  I 


There  sat  niv    lirotlicr,  witli    In-   lu-a-l   l 


I  coaxed,  then  scolded,  and  in  my  despair 
I  cried,  "  How  can  a  man  of  spirit  dare 
Expose  a  misplaced  love  !     No  one  suspects, 
But  all  will  know  what  sullenness  reflects." 
Much  more  I  said  :  he.  answered  not  the  while, 
Save  by  a  frown  and  cold  sardonic  smile. 
Old  Watch  was  lying  sadly  at  his  feet ; 
And  when  his  worried  look  I  chanced  to  meet, 
With  whining  agony  like  human  sighs, 
He  gazed  upon  me  with  sad  speaking  eyes. 


x. 

Then  came  a  pause ;  his  answer  I  would  wait 
In  silent  prayer  to  stay  his  hapless  fate; 
At  last  he  cried,  "  You'd  have  me  play  a  part 
To  hide  the  torture  of  a  blighted  heart ; 
You  argue  well, — I  go  to  join  their  glee ; 
Her  happiness  shall  not  be  marred  by  me. 
For  love  like  mine  could  never  cause  her  pain. 
Eila !     I  thank  you  for  this  strength  I  gain." 
103 


As  if  awaking  from  a  troubled  dream 

Of  cruel  fancies  that  would  wildly  teem 

Through  thoughts  o'ercrowded  with  forebodings  dark 

His  hope  eclipsed  yielded  one  radiant  spark. 

I  twined  my  arms  around  his  neck  and  pressed 

My  head  upon  his  cold  upheaving  breast. 

Kesponding  to  his  words  with  glad  surprise 

I  cried,  "  Dear  Ernest,  this  is  noble, — wise  !" 

Watch  leaped  upon  us  fawning  with  delight, 

Then  barking,  bounding,  through  the  path  took  flight. 

Eunning  as  fleetly  as  if  on  a  race, 

Inducing  us  to  join  his  mimic  chase. 

Great  shaggy  fellow,  a  good  friend  was  he ; 

Our  joys  and  griefs  he  joined  devotedly, 

His  countenance,  alight  when  all  was  well, 

Like  mercury  chilled,  at  any  sadness  fell. 


XI. 


The  while  we  followed  through  the  tangled  way, 
His  buoyant  happiness,  his  capers  gay 
104 


" 


That   mossy  stone  hesido  the  stream. 


Soon  wooed  our  footsteps  to  his  frolic  speed 
To  join  his  play  while  following  his  lead, 
Until  we  reached  the  happy  throng,  grown  great 
By  friends  and  neighbors,  to  congratulate 
Our  dear  Eudora's  new-found  happiness, 
With  pleasant  words  of  love  to  greet  and  bless. 
As  pressing  through  the  genial  crowd  we  came, 
Eudora,  smiling,  called  "  Ernest !"     The  name 
Drew  every  glance  toward  us.     My  face  aglow 
With  joyous  welcome,  that  they  should  not  know 
His  agony  of  heart  that  clouds  o'erspread, — 
I  stepping  forward,  took  his  place  instead. 
And  then  presented  Ernest,  who,  meanwhile, 
Received  my  badinage  with  placid  smile ; 
My  father  whispered,  "  I  am  happy  now 
To  see  your  brother  with  unclouded  brow." 


XII. 


Years  passed  away ;  upon  that  mossy  stone 
Once  more  beside  the  stream  I  sat  alone,— 

105 


"  Come,  Eila  !     We  have  waited  long  for  you 
Up  at  the  Bluff.     Gome  !  tell  us  that  tale,  true, 
The  one  you  promised  me  that  you  would  write. 
Come!     Do  your  best,  dress  it  in  sparkles  bright." 
So  spake  my  brother  Claude,  and  drove  away 
My  plot  of  writing  the  superb  display 
Of  that  grand  wedding  ; — 

Then  the  merry  cheer 

Of  children  laughing  as  they  gathered  near, 
All  hopping,  skipping,  romping  in  great  glee, 
Airing  at  once  their  messages  for  me, 
From  laughing,  rosy  lips,  the  bevy  came 
Wafting  sweet  kisses  with  endearing  name ; 
Entreating  me  this  story  then  to  tell 
On  that  same  spot  their  mother  loved  so  well. 
They  drew  me  from  the  past ;  for  until  then 
My  thoughts  had  wandered  with  my  restless  pen, 
But  Claude  insisted.     "  At  the  Bluff  they  wait 
To  hear  the  incidents  you  will  relate. 
Come  with  me  quickly  to  the  hermitage 
To  cheer  our  friend,  the  noble,  gifted  Sage." 
106 


w>^ 


XIII. 

"  Yes/'  chimed  the  children.    "  Grandsire  said  you'd  come 

And  tell  us  stories, — Please  do  tell  us  some!" 

Chatting,  they  led  the  terraced  path  along, 

Skipping  with  lightsome  step  to  scraps  of  song, 

Until  we  reached  the  bluff-crowned  hermitage. 

In  his  arm-chair  the  patriarchal  Sage 

Received  with  genial  smiles  our  party  gay. 

The  birds  were  trilling  sweetly  that  bright  day, 

Through  open  windows  wafting  merrily 

Their  wooing  notes,  or  calling  cheerily. — 

Alvin,  the  hero  of  this  rhythmic  tale, 

Had  grown  in  manly  presence  noble, — hale,— 

Eudora  happy, — genial, — dignified, 

With  matron  grace  that  youthful  charms  outvied. 

Her  eldest  daughter,  like  her  mother,  fair, 

So  like,  with  brother  Ernest  standing  there, 

Kecalled  to  me  that  Christmas  minuet 

And  those  two  stepping  through  the  stately  set. 


107 


XIV. 

All  looked  so  happy,  so  supremely  glad ; 
The  Sage  with  smiles  said,  "  To  thy  story  add 
A  sequel  worthy  of  an  honored  place ; 
The  threads  of  destiny  we  truly  trace ; 
Content  am  I  their  fortunes  to  approve ; 
Happy  are  those  who  pledge  their  vows  in  love." 
Surprised  with  joy  that  came  so  suddenly, 
I  glanced  at  Ernest,  standing  graciously 
With  his  Eudora,  loved,  affianced  bride, 
Smiling  on  him  with  fondness  by  his  side. 
I  hurried  to  them, — thanking  God  who  gave 
That  lovely  being  to  my  brother  brave ; 
Who  now  appeared  in  radiant  happiness, 
Gazing  on  one  his  every  glance  would  bless. 
Eudora  clasped  me  in  her  dimpled  arms 
With  blushes  that  enhanced  her  maiden  charms, — 
"  Etta,"  said  Ernest,  "  never  until  this 
Could  my  affianced  claim  a  sister's  kiss." 
Then  Claude  exclaimed,  "  Present  your  brother  too, 
To  him  who  shares  your  joy,  one  kiss  is  due  !" 
108 


Another  subject  for  an  artist's  brush, — 

I  caught  his  arm,  his  sportive  mood  to  hush. 


xv. 


Then  spake  the  Sage,  "  Canst  thou  thy  canvas  stretch, 
And  make  it  large  enough  this  group  to  sketch  ? 
How  many  figures?"     Claude,  with  mirthful  smile, 
Keplied,  "  Yes — twenty, — in  a  little  while 
I'll  have  the  present  company  all  sketched  ;— 
Be  sure  my  canvas  can  be  amply  stretched. 
A  bachelor  am  I,  who  can  recall 
A  dozen  loves; — I  could  not  wed  them  all,— 
One  subject  I  have  painted,  found  her  charms 
In  perfect  figure,  snowy  rounded  arms  ; 
Another  had  dark,  speaking  hazel  eyes 
Within  whose  depths  a  hidden  love-light  lies  ; 
And  one,  whose  features  formed  in  classic  mould, 
The  purest  lines  of  radiant  beauty  hold ; 
And  one  with  golden  crown  of  glorious  hair,— 
I  whispered  Claude,  "  You've  told  enough,  beware !" 
109 


He,  laughing,  answered,  "  Eila,  I  revere 
Your  warning,  and  the  rest  no  one  shall  hear." 
As  gay  at  heart  he  left  our  presence, — then 
The  Sage  exclaimed,  "  One  of  the  best  of  men, 
Devoted  to  his  art,  his  works  proclaim 
A  master's  hand  and  promise  future  fame." 

XVI. 

Next  morning  Claude  came  to  the  hermitage ; 
In  merry  mood  he  offered  to  the  Sage 
A  landscape,  beautiful  with  sunny  beams, 
Lighting  a  rippling  rill  in  golden  gleams ; 
Beside  the  waters  children  were  at  play, 
Bright  as  the  sparkles  of  that  glorious  day. 
Then  said  the  Sage, — "  Not  twenty  figures  there." 
"  Yes,"  answered  Claude,  "  but  it  has  been  my  care 
To  let  them  wander  through  the  woodland  bowers ; 
We  only  see  the  children  twining  flowers." 
My  story  let  me  close  like  Claude,  "  with  care," 
And  leave  the  children  with  their  blossoms  fair. 


110 


;^i 


